


twelve: tears

by mikronicos



Series: LadyNoir July 2019 [12]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Major Character Injury, Mugging, Stabbing, ah shit im actually kinda sorry this is gonna be rough, do I care about your pitiful mortal feelings, lmao adrien dies, mentioned murder and/or assault, not one bit whatsoever, tw: mentioned rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikronicos/pseuds/mikronicos
Summary: Chat Noir dies of a stabbing. It goes about as well as you'd expect.





	twelve: tears

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST LIKE ABANDONED THIS SERIES I'M SO SORRY I GOT DISTRACTED I PROMISE I'LL FINISH IT

Chat sobbed, his throat raw, as the thin crescent moon shone down on him in the deserted cobblestone-paved alley he lay in. Blood trickled out of his mouth, though it was quickly washed away by the one am rain that chilled him to the bone. He was alone, cradling his fatally injured abdomen and leaning against a graffitied brick wall in a nook behind a tarot shop and haircut place.

He'd been patrolling alone that night. Their schedule went like this: Chat, Chat & Ladybug, Ladybug, and repeated like that. He stopped muggings, the occasional assault or murder, and it was honestly revolting how many rapes he stopped; he felt bad for every single person he couldn't save or prevent from being assaulted. 

It was a mugging. A simple, impossibly easy to stop mugging. And, yet, he couldn't beat the mugger. (Granted, his father fed him a model's diet, and his vision had been dim and his ears ringing when he started the fight.) He'd gotten stabbed. If he'd had his baton, he'd have called Ladybug like he had countless times before. ("YOU WERE _STABBED_?!" "Lightly stabbed-" "Oh my fucking god, Chat, get your alley cat ass to my house before you die of something other than your _stab wound_.")

During the fight, however, his baton had been knocked to the side. He'd turned to snatch it up. In his distraction, it took him a moment to register the cold, wet metal plunging into his stomach, and then the near-crippling wave of pain that rocked him to the core and turned his vision dark. He couldn't hear. He couldn't move. He'd collapsed forward, driving the knife deeper into him. He had been kicked in the face, hard, when the mugger had sprinted away from his pain-riddled form.

And that's where he lay now, crying out in pain as he thrashed once, twice, and was silent. His body grew cold and his eyes were blank and unseeing, open and glassy like green marbles.


End file.
